


acid in your veins

by prinsipe



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 18:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3457799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prinsipe/pseuds/prinsipe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s March and raining and about five minutes into Chihiro’s twentieth birthday when Seijuro shows up on his front porch.</p><p><em>Well, shit,</em> Chihiro thinks, and opens the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	acid in your veins

**Author's Note:**

> one day i'll do this pairing justice, but right now it's 1 in the morning and i really wanted to write something regardless of quality. i completely butchered their dynamic in the process. 
> 
> happy birthday, chihiro!
> 
> edit: oops wrong rating

It’s March and raining and about five minutes into Chihiro’s twentieth birthday when Seijuro shows up on his front porch.

 _Well, shit,_ Chihiro thinks, and opens the door.

.

.

 Little has changed since high school. Seijuro’s still got the well-worn habit of asking people things when they don’t have a choice, and the  _slightly_ nastier habit of reaching far beneath skin and bone and vein lacework to hit people where it hurts.

(Seijuro is acid, burning his way to cores and tearing them apart.)

“I didn’t think you’d stay in Kyoto, Mayuzumi,” Seijuro says, tiptoeing into formalities neither of them have worn for a while. Mayuzumi looks at him from his place at the kitchen table, looks at the thin shirt clinging to the edges of muscle and ribs. The last time he’d seen Seijuro, he’d only been able to notice the ribs when the shirts were off and--

“Surprise,” Chihiro says, turns away from him. There’s a lot both of them haven’t yet said and infinitely more that’s better off left that way, but he’s got too much damn pride to admit a thing. They’re alike in that way, Chihiro notices.

“I thought you wanted to study abroad.” Seijuro rolls his sleeves up, huddles further into himself for warmth. Rain leaves trails of water on his cheeks and streaks of itself in his hair, and if Chihiro squints hard enough, he can see the seventeen year old and a basketball team he left behind.

Chihiro gets up and opens the cupboard on the other side of his tiny apartment, reaching for a towel. “I did.” He watches Seijuro from the corner of his eye, does what he’s best at.

“Why did you change your mind?”

“None of your business,” Chihiro says, throwing him the towel from where he stands. “I’m pretty sure you know the answer already.”

“I want to hear it from you.” Seijuro peels the shirt off and drapes the towel over his shoulders, looking at Chihiro in a way that makes him squirm. “It’s been a while.”

“We needed the time,” says Chihiro. They both know he doesn’t mean it, both know there’s not enough time in the world to fill gaps between hands and teeth. Chihiro tries to remember the last time Seijuro had fit into his life like a glove and not a knife in a back. He’s not surprised when he can’t.

(Seijuro is acetone, and Chihiro likes to think he doesn’t know better, but he  _does._ )

“Do you just decide to show up in the doorsteps of people you haven’t seen in years?” Chihiro tells him, leaning against the counter. He takes a moment to relish in the satisfaction; Chihiro celebrates victories where he can. The granite bites into his hip, but he doesn’t make an effort to move.

Seijuro stops looking at him, instead focusing his attention on the patterns on Chihiro’s floor. “It’s your birthday,” he says.  _As if that has anything to do with it._

Chihiro’s not stupid. A  _lot_ has changed since high school, and he’s certain Seijuro knows it, too. If there’s anything Chihiro’s learned when it comes to Seijuro, it’s that everything has to do with everything. “Yeah. So do us both a favour and leave.”

Despite what he says, he hands Seijuro a shirt bearing Rakuzan’s name.  _Huh._ He reminds himself to throw everything that has to do with Rakuzan out later.

(Nothing is going to rid of him of Seijuro, Chihiro knows. Kyoto wouldn’t let him leave--there’s Seijuro living and breathing and  _being_ in every hollow of memory, and it drives Chihiro insane.)

“Tonight,” Seijuro says. There’s still the towel over his shoulders and the shirt in his lap. From where Chihiro stands, he can see the thinness of his shoulders and the ridge of his collarbones. “Let me stay for just tonight.”

(It’s not a question any more than it is a command. He’s not Chihiro’s captain anymore, isn’t Chihiro’s  _anything_ anymore, but--)

Chihiro stares at him before closing the cupboard door with a tense hand. “Alright. Tonight.”

He’s not stupid enough to believe either of them will hold up their end of the deal.


End file.
